Stories of Ardys

I recall how seemingly boring my life was BE (Before Eddie).  Before I met people like Lisa Landry, John Ryan, Voni Glaves, Mike Kneebone and, of course, Ardys Kellerman.  And if I didn't mention your name it only means there isn't enough space to list the countless other entertaining, inspiring and wonderfully cool people I've come to know because of Mr. James.  And for all of you who have known me long before 2006, no insult is intended.

It's just that people in the long distance motorcycling community are different from the rest of us.

Although I've ridden pillion on many Saddlesores (1000 miles in 24 hours or less), have participated both as a rider and staff at countless long distance riding events, scored some of the best riders in the game and am the owner of TeamStrange Airheads, Inc. which now puts on about 7 riding events per year - I still don't consider myself one of the "them".

How could I possibly?

Whenever I attend an Iron Butt event I feel like an interloper.  My greatest fear is that at any moment someone will realize I don't possess the coveted Iron Butt Association number that shows I have documented my riding accomplishments and throw me out the door.

I refused Eddie's attempts to send in the proof that I had, indeed, ridden on that damn Gold Wing to reach Saddlesore and Bun Burner status simply because I had the opportunity to take naps while he did all the hard work of operating the motorcycle.  Once we had finished the Iron Butt Rally (11 days of 1000 mile days) - then and only then would I join the ranks of the IBA.  Of course, that will never happen.  So, I remain numberless and  simply an observer of greatness.

But for all of the interesting and truly inspiring characters I have met in this group, no one stood out as much as Ardys Kellerman.

Unfortunately, I can't tell you when I first met her.

Like most celebrities (and yes, she was a celebrity), I was aware of her long before I actually met her.  So, it seems like I always knew who she was and therefore, knew her.  It was probably at the BMW RA rally in Asheville, NC in 2007.  But the thing about Ardys was that when you met her she just seemed like a really nice Grandma.  There was nothing about her that would indicate you were in the company of a motorcycling legend.

Until she put on her helmet, got herself on her bike and took off.

Perhaps this will put it in perspective -  Ardys rode a total of 103,345 miles between April 8, 2006 and April 7, 2007.  That is an average of 283 miles every day for a year.  At the age of 75.  In 2011, at 79, she reached the milestone of 1,000,000 miles on BMW motorcycles.

She was a single mother to four children.  She was a grandmother and a great-grandmother.  And she died on June 24, 2013, on her motorcycle, at the age of 81.  No slow decline for this woman.  She had ridden from her home just outside of Austin, TX and was in route to South Carolina with a stop in Atlanta.  Earlier that day, a  tree limb was hit by a car in front of her, throwing it up and hitting her bike.  The windshield and headlight were damaged.  She figured she could make it to Atlanta before dark anyway, so no worries.  She was hit by an SUV as she pulled out of a convenience store on Hwy. 278 near Leeds, AL.

Ardys gave new meaning to the term "strong, independent woman".  I used to think I was a strong, independent woman until I met this one.  I get worked up over things like broken dishwashers and misbehaving fire alarms.

I never saw Ardys worked up about anything.  She was calm, easy going and probably the most practical person I've ever run across.  Not one for fussiness or emotional platitudes, Ardys didn't really have much patience with sentimentality.  Frankly, she reminded me so much of my own mother.  And being around her was about as easy as it comes.

She became a regular house guest here beginning in the summer of 2009.  She was with us for well over a week that first time.

On the second day she scolded me when I  went to pour half a pot of coffee down the drain.

"Don't waste that coffee!  I'll just reheat it in the microwave."  And she did.  And I felt like I had been put in timeout.  I wish I had a dollar for every cup of coffee she drank in my kitchen between 2009 and 2013.

After Eddie's death her visits were pretty frequent.  Of course, my house was no different from dozens of others across the US.  We all served as waypoints for Ardys as she traveled the country.  I'd get a phone call, email, Facebook message saying she was passing through Atlanta.  She would mostly split her time between my place and Bob & Lynda Wooldridge's.  As she told me a couple of times, "I don't want to wear out my welcome."  As if.

The fact was I looked forward to her visits more than she did.  We'd sit at the kitchen table for hours and talk.  We'd go get BBQ.  In 2011 she had let her hair grow out and she really wanted to get it cut.  I suggested she let my brother-in-law, Johnny, cut it.  She seemed pretty happy with the results and he was pretty happy about meeting Ardys and getting to cut her hair.

She loved dogs (she used to run a kennel) and Jake was no exception.  She would send me messages saying  "Tell Jake I said hi!".

And then there is my favorite Ardys story - which brings us back to why I don't feel worthy of any designation of being a rider of two-wheeled vehicles especially among the LD community.

After Eddie died I spent a lot of time mourning the fact that our travels via motorcycle had ended.  He had opened up this whole world that I didn't even know existed BE.  I had my motorcycle license and my own bike (a Valentine's gift from Eddie) but the truth is, I'm not a good rider.  I am clumsy, uncoordinated, suffer from terrible balance and have come to the conclusion that I am a menace to others when operating a two wheeled vehicle.

I wasn't totally ready to accept this reality in the year after Eddie's death.  I figured I just needed something more simple.  You see, riding a motorcycle is much harder than it looks.  We'll pause here while my LD friends have a quick laugh.  As my MSF instructor so eloquently put it, "All four paws are working".  So I got it in my head to buy a scooter.  If I didn't have to think about shifting gears and operating a clutch I could focus on staying upright.

But instead of going for 50cc Vespa or something else equally easy to handle, I had my sights set on a Honda Silverwing.  600cc and almost as much weight.

My purchase coincided with an Ardys visit.  I was slightly intimidated but did I mention she was a Grandma?

So, together, we drove up to Cumming, GA to look at the scooter.  I knew I was going to buy it as soon as I talked to the owner on the phone but I was still trying to be cool.  I told Ardys to bring her helmet in case I wanted her to test ride it for me.

I rode it around the seller's neighborhood and immediately noticed that riding a large scooter and riding a regular motorcycle was very different.  But, I figured I'd get used to that.

As we worked through the purchase, it occurred to me I really didn't want to take my first real ride on the Silverwing on two of the worst highways in Atlanta - GA 400 and I-285.

I turned to Ardys, "Do you mind riding it home for me?"  It was one of the most humiliating moments of my life.

She didn't hesitate.  "Sure."  She grabbed her helmet, hopped on and took off.

The next morning I got up really early, determined to take the scooter out for a ride before there was much traffic on the roads.  I should probably mention that I live 7 miles from downtown Atlanta in an area known for its hills, twisty roads and heavy traffic.  Getting into my neighborhood, down the hill and through the 90 degree turn  to ultimately make it to my garage is nothing for an experienced rider but, for me, it was daunting.

After a fairly successful ride, I was faced with the difficult terrain of my own neighborhood.  I got to the 90 degree downhill turn that leads to my garage.  And down I went.

I lay on the ground and realized I wasn't dead, nothing was broken and that tipping over the bike wasn't catastrophic.  I attempted all the methods I had heard, seen and read about lifting a bike by yourself.  (Eddie's friend, Skert, a very petite woman, has made a second career out of teaching burly men how to accomplish this task - and I had seen her demonstrations a few times.)

Exhausted and frustrated, I finally came to the conclusion that I would need help getting this GIGANTIC Silverwing off of its side.

I walked back to my house, up the stairs, and gently knocked on Ardys' door.

"Ardys, I dropped the scooter and can't pick it up."

"Ok, be right there."

Within minutes me and my 78 year old friend managed to get the scooter back up.

"You have to ride it down to the garage", she said.

I didn't argue.  You can't argue with a mother, grandmother and great-grandmother who can ride 100,000 miles in one year on a motorcycle.

But I came to a stark realization.

As much as I wanted to be like Ardys, Voni, Lisa Landry and all of the other very cool, female, long distance motorcyclists who I had met over the last seven years - I wasn't ever going to be like them.

The fact that Ardys indulged my need to prove something to myself was enough.

And the fact that I was able to serve her endless cups of coffee and listen to the stories of her life and travels for hours on end is something I will be eternally grateful for.

Ardys taught me that we make our own happiness.

She taught me that richness in life has nothing to do with money.

She taught me that if you spend your time doing what you love everything else will be in balance.

And she taught me that it really does take two people to pick up a motorbike if it is pointed down hill.